To begin: Characters are not mine.
So this is the Werewulf Incident as mentioned in my ficlet Battle Scars. It's just a bit of fun – trying my hand at writing a fight.......
So, I hope you enjoy.
Crimson.
"He was eighteen, I was fifteen, It was the – which year was it? Um, the fourth year of our reign.
Scared everyone silly when the damned thing appeared from nowhere and tried to avenge his queen."
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"Did Su tell you that Lune has invited us for a Christmas visit?"
Peter turned to look at his brother. They were riding side by side at a slow walk, headed out to inquire about the well being of a recent settlement. This was a one off outing with no guards, just themselves. Edmund had convinced his brother that they would not be getting into any trouble during a simple trip which was less than two miles.
It was freezing, one of those days just before it started to snow and the two Kings were wrapped heavily in thick cloaks and sturdy boots of leather. But despite the chill, they wore great smiles and their shoulders were relaxed. It was quiet, here in the woods. No worries for a brief period of time.
"Not yet. That would be grand though, a week or so away would do us good."
Edmund nodded, pushing his crown further back onto his head as it fell over one eye. "We'll have to schedule it before our own celebrations start though. We'll have to be back in order for you to open the winter festivities."
Peter laughed. "Oh yes, we won't miss the winter festivities. Susan's been planning them for the last three weeks already. And it's still eight weeks until Christmas."
Edmund joined his laughter. "You know how she gets. Lu's already taken to hiding behind the curtains when she passes."
Peter inclined his head. "I think we should follow suit, brother. For our own well being."
"Otherwise we'll be stuck hanging flowers in the Throne Hall - remember that year?" Edmund added with a smirk.
His crown fell in front of his eyes once again and Edmund sighed, shoving it back carelessly.
"Ed," said Peter, his eyes full of mirth, "you shall have to get that circlet of yours fixed, or Susan will be on to you about looking respectable."
Edmund pushed his crown up again. "Well it's not my fault that I'm growing so quickly that the dwarves have grown sick of making me a new one every few months. Braord decided just to make an extra big one this time and told me I could grow into it!"
Peter laughed again heartily and eyed him fondly. "You are growing. Soon you shall stand taller than I."
Edmund pulled his head into his shoulders and smiled up at his brother. "I shall have to stunt my growth. We can't have the High King's little brother standing taller than the High King, now can we?"
Edmund's crown fell again and his view was obscured.
"No," Peter began – but then his voice was covered by a piercing howl so loud that Edmund barely heard his brother's strangled cry of surprise. Then the horses went crazy.
Edmund shoved back his crown fiercely, his heart pumping with sudden adrenalin and clung to his saddle. He glanced around wildly, while trying to calm Brax and spied Peter's horse. It had broken into a sprint, headed back towards the Cair.
It was riderless.
"Ed!"
And then he saw them. The Werewulf had Peter pinned on his back, it's eyes a wild red as it snarled in the High King's face. Peter's hands were busy pushing the snapping jaws away from his body; he was unable to reach his sword.
Instinctively, Edmund let go of the horse to grab his own sword, readying to run to his brother's defence. He did forget this particular horse was not war trained and immediately was thrown to the ground as the animal pranced away.
His crown flew off his head - he never noticed. Edmund never even felt the fall, simply rolled and jumped to his feet, grasping his sword in two hands as he dove towards the fray, single minded in his intent. Get to Peter.
"HEY!" he hollered, hoping to distract the beast.
It swiped a paw at Peter's face and Edmund spied the strange, yet familiar and hated tattoo marks across its front right paw.
It was one of hers.
There hadn't been an assassination attempt by one of her beasts in over two years.
The beast, half starved by the look of it, was full of wiry strength and unpredictable at best. It appeared to not notice Edmund.
Edmund, not thinking terribly clearly (other than: Get it off Peter ) and seeing his brother's face inches from the beast's teeth, used his momentum and simply hurled himself at the bulk of the animal, sending them both crashing away from the High King.
The animal howled in his ear and as they rolled, scrambling together in the dirt, Edmund felt the painful path of a paw of claws raking into his left shoulder. He cried out as the claws tore his flesh, easily breaking the cloak he had been wearing. The claws raked again and again, deepening the first wounds.
He grunted as they hit a tree. His shoulder burned fiercely in the dirt.
"Get OFF!" he hissed to the beast, smashing it's jaws to the side and using his legs to kick it away from his body.
The beast yelped and immediately the weight over Edmund lessened.
"Hey! Over here you GREAT UGLY BRUTE!"
Edmund sighed with relief. Peter was up. The beast turned from Edmund with a snarl.
Gasping, Edmund rolled to his side, scrambling for his sword. He passed it to his right hand as he noticed blood dripping down his left. He blocked the searing pain and turned to search for the wulf and his brother.
They were circling each other a few feet away, the wulf snarling, looking monstrous beside the High King. But Rhindon was sure and flashed in to nick the beast's shoulder.
It howled, enraged and swiped at Peter. Peter ducked, and underneath the Wulf's paw, he caught sight of Edmund, his eyes widening as he saw his brother's shoulder.
Peter froze.
How many times had Oreius warned them about distractions? How many times had he told Peter not to be distracted by his protective instinct towards Edmund?
Peter paid for his moment of concern. Edmund had not even the time to shout a warning. The beast whipped out his paw, sent the High King's sword flying and lunged at the man, bowling him flat to the ground.
Edmund's legs were already pumping, carrying him towards the two once again. He gripped his sword with his right and drew his dagger with his left, ignoring the slippery blood coating his hand.
His steps almost faltered as he heard Peter's scream. He almost gagged in fright as he saw the beast's mouth push past Peter's fists and clamp down hard on his shoulder. His heart almost stopped beating as he heard the tear of material and flesh.
"NO!" The cry had torn itself from his lips, pulled the air from his lungs without him knowing.
Peter's body went limp. With shock. Edmund told himself firmly, With shock – he wasn't –
The wulf was so occupied with tearing his brother apart that it never saw Edmund coming. With a fierce howl of rage Edmund brought his sword down on the neck of the beast, following quickly with his dagger, thrusting it into the jugular, ignoring the burn in his arm.
The wulf gagged and flinched, rearing away from the murderous metal and Edmund released the dagger, unable to keep his arm clenched any longer. But he followed it doggedly with his sword.
The beast staggered to the left, sending out a paw to swat at him feebly. It wanted to continue the fight. But Edmund had no time. Peter groaned behind him. He had no time. A deft swipe later and the beast was still, lying in a crumpled heap by the tree they had grappled against earlier.
Edmund had no time to breathe. No time to retrieve his dagger. No time.
He made his feet stagger towards his brother and dropped to his knees painfully. His left arm was all but useless; he couldn't even feel the burn of torn flesh anymore. He had no idea how bad it was. Was that his blood which dripped down his fingers or the wulf's?
But oh – Aslan – that was Peter's blood. That was his brother's blood making a pile of mud on the forest floor. And there was so much.
He had no time. No time.
"Pete!" he gasped, "Pete, answer me."
Peter groaned and his eyes fluttered. Gingerly Edmund rolled him slightly to assess the damage. It was bad. That was all he could tell. Bad enough.
He glanced around desperately. The horses were long gone. Through his own haze his brain stubbornly kept working. Stubbornly clung to protocol, to what he had been taught.
"Pete, we've got to move. We've got to get back to the Cair. I don't know if there are any more – you need the cordial, Pete –"
And he didn't know how he did it, but he managed to get Peter to his knees and then his feet. But his brother was fighting to stay conscious; Edmund could feel the blood from Peter's shoulder seeping over the hand which steadied his brother. He was losing blood, fast.
Edmund shook his head as the grey clouds rolled across his vision. So was he. Losing blood.
"Come on. Move." He didn't know whether he was saying that to Peter or to himself.
Grunting he began to haul Peter a few steps. He had no sense of time. He only knew he had none.
At one point he stumbled, Peter's weight becoming too much and they tumbled painfully to the grass. Peter groaned as they hit the hard ground and Edmund's breath caught in his throat as his shoulder knocked painfully against a rock.
"Get up. Get up. Get up," he chanted to himself, blinking fiercely and summoning strength.
When Edmund lifted his head, he was face to face with a pair of rabbits taking tea. They stared at him with wide eyes, their ears quivering. He could hear their teacups rattling against their saucers.
"Good afternoon," he managed to groan as politely as he could, gritting his teeth through the pain. "Please send word to The Queen Lucy that her brothers are in need of her cordial." He considered their frozen faces a moment. "Please." He added for good measure and promptly lay his head back in the grass.
After another startled pause, one rabbit dropped its cup with a smash and dashed off, the soft thump of his hind legs a sound of hope. Edmund followed its progress with his eyes, winking away the black dots.
"Oh dear. Oh dear," said the remaining rabbit, fretting with its ears. "Oh dear. Whatever shall I do?"
"Please," Edmund mumbled, "Please send word to my sister." He was barely aware anymore. "Please."
"Oh yes, oh yes, there's help on the way," the rabbit replied.
" – My sister." His lips were numb.
"Oh dear, King Edmund? Can you hear me?" A soft paw touched his face gently.
" – My brother? See my brother." Edmund could feel Peter's warm breath on his neck, against which the High King had fallen. He was still alive.
"Yes, yes. He's breathing, he's here. Oh dear, I wish they'd hurry. I wish I were taller, I wish I were stronger."
"The blood –"
"Oh! Oh yes! I can stop the bleeding. Wait here –" the rabbit darted away.
"I won't move." Edund snorted at his own joke and sighed. The ground was feeling increasingly soft.
Then the rabbit was back and Edmund felt the tiny thing flutter around his brother, heard the tearing of fabric. And then, vaguely, Edmund thought he heard a horn in the distance.
"Lu?"
Oh!" The rabbit sounded brighter now. "Oh they're coming, sire. I can hear them through the trees. They're coming. Hold on now. Hold on."
Edmund clenched his arms around his brother. "I am. I'm holding," he said, and his eyes slipped closed.
"OVER HERE" The Rabbit cried in a voice much louder than Edmund ever expected a rabbit to have. And as he sunk into unconsciousness, he thought he heard the steps of horses, the voices of frightened animals and anxious humans.
And then there was Lucy.
"Edmund! Oh! Peter! Oh Aslan! Make way, let me through! Edmund?"
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So what did you think? I've never tried to write a fight before...hmmm... will take a bit of practise I think.
There will be a follow up chapter in the next couple of days. ; )